lipok meren jamir
It was the last day of my cousin’s vacation visit, and
The next day, she and her two kids would leave home hundreds of miles away.
So, we tried to make the best of the day.
The day was gloomy and deserted aligning with January weather,
With fog all over,
And cold to the bones.
Tea was the hero with cousin’s company,
Talking education, career and life. . .
In the afternoon, we helped her pack her luggage.
And almost all the Naga cuisine-ingredients
Not found in mainland India were packed
With polythene and again with polythene,
And at last, with cello tape all over.
Because many Naga food habits consist of fermented stuffs with strong smell,
After all, she had to travel by flight and
Keeping in mind about the last incidents at airport,
With little doubt, she packed all properly.
She has a son, Harry, who is fond of animals,
And would ask around everyone whenever he comes across animals,
Asking their names.
Later in the evening, the time to cook dinner,
The house was filled with female cousins and their children.
And being the only adult guy, I was obliged to kill a chicken for dinner.
(it’s a kind of tradition learnt from grandpa to have chicken dinner before any long journey)
And there is Harry from whom we had to hide the chicken being killed and being roasting above the gas stove flames.
I did, without him noticed.
And I was filled with pity for the chicken.
I felt sad and guilty too.
Because I myself an animal lover,
Deep inside, I felt crack.
But did I have a choice that evening? Absolutely no.
And while being broken down there,
A thought came that I have my cousins (sisters) there who are good cooks.
And I expected a nice and a delicious dinner.
That was the twist of the evening that brought sad and laugh at the same time.
And it was compensated by a tummy.